Standing under the hot spray of the shower after a long day immersed in nature, I suddenly feel eyes on me. I turn—and there it is. A big spider, quietly occupying the corner of the bathroom.

I had just begun to tolerate my under-the-sink neighbor, but this one? Well… I guess it’s another guest I’ll have to coexist with. I made myself a promise at the beginning of this journey—not to harm any of the creatures sharing this path with me. It’s a vow I haven’t always kept, but one I genuinely strive to honor.

Living in the rural areas of South America has meant making a pact with nature—a silent agreement to observe, respect, and learn. This contract has opened up an entirely new world of discovery. I am constantly surrounded by life: crawling, buzzing, slithering, and soaring. Each time I encounter a new creature, one I’ve never seen before, I’m struck by how little I truly know about the natural world. Not knowing which beings are harmless and which might pose a threat has, at times, left me feeling vulnerable and uneasy.

Tonight, I just watch the spider. It dances on its nearly invisible thread. As I lean in, I notice the massive web stretched across the corner—one I had completely missed until now. It had likely been there all along. A reminder of how much we overlook when our minds are tangled in thoughts, emotions, and distractions.

Under the steaming water, I breathe in the majestic grace of this day. The Andes. Their overwhelming power has been my silent companion, my teacher, my muse. After two months wandering through Bolivia and Peru, I find myself captivated by the mystical nature surrounding me.

In Bolivia, I learned that mountains are sacred. Local myths speak of a time when mountains were once humans. When they misbehaved, they sparked the wrath of God, who turned them into stone as punishment. In Peru, mountains are viewed as guardians—perhaps for shielding communities from invading warriors, perhaps for offering the gift of water from their snow-capped peaks. A local guide in the Sacred Valley told me that each elevation of the mountain has a name, because every level nurtures different plants and animals. Their knowledge of the land is astonishing—and humbling.

As I stand here, surrounded by towering cliffs, I can’t help but wonder what life must have been like during the Inca or even pre-Inca times. How harsh survival must have been without the technology and tools we now take for granted. No wonder they were so deeply connected to nature. It was their lifeline, their calendar, their medicine, their god. Somewhere along the way, we’ve lost that intimacy with the Earth.

The Inca Empire, which thrived in ancient Peru between roughly 1400 and 1533 CE, became the largest empire the Americas had ever seen, stretching from Quito in modern-day Ecuador down to Santiago in Chile. At its peak, it was also the largest empire in the world.

And here, in the heart of it all, I find myself in awe of the Andes—the world’s longest continental mountain range, stretching over 7,000 kilometers through seven countries: Venezuela, Colombia, Ecuador, Peru, Bolivia, Argentina, and Chile. With peaks like Aconcagua, soaring to 22,841 feet (6,962 meters), and a terrain that includes glaciers, volcanoes, deserts, lakes, and forests, the Andes are a treasure trove of biodiversity and ancient history. Chinchillas dart through rocky crevices, condors soar overhead, and the silence between is sacred.

Living next to this raw, untamed beauty has pulled me into presence. Nature doesn’t just surround us—it is us. We are part of it, woven into the same web as the spider in the corner.

I wish more of us could remember that. I wish even people like Trump could understand it.